(g)Host
©July 12th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Annika slipped past the gate of the house in the woods.
She had gone exploring, and was lost. She had wandered out of her backyard, where she had been playing a make-believe game. Her mother was sound asleep in the hammock, made drowsy by the sound of bees in sunshine. Her father was away in the city, working.
Talking to her unseen friend, whom she could hear, she had walked down the street, and found herself at the edge of the conservation lands that adjoined their town.
And now, here she was, in the wilderness, slipping past the crazily-hanging gate of the house which was in perfect condition – and empty. The trees seemed to stand closer together, and whisper, “Don’t go, little girl. Turn back! Don’t go.”
She turned, then, to the trees, and whispered, “Why?”
But the trees grew silent. Someone had come to the door.
Annika turned around, and saw no one. The voice she had followed said, “Bow down to the Host.”
Annika didn’t understand, and said, “Who? I don’t see anyone, or hear anyone.”
And a voice spoke that would have chilled anyone to the bone, but the little girl was oblivious. “Hear my voice, and tremble. I will rend you limb from limb, but do come in first, for you’re my Guest.”
The trees had begun whispering again when the voice began speaking, so all the little girl heard was the latter part of the sentence. Being an obedient little child, she said in her piping, clear voice, “Okay.”
As she walked up the drive, the trees made a huge clamour, and she turned around, and saw something white fluttering to the ground. She stopped, curiosity piquing her.
“Why do you stop, little girl?” asked the voice by her side.
“I just dropped something. Wait here. I’ll be back,” she replied. She ran down the drive, pushed the gate aside, and bent to pick up the paper.
“LEAVE NOW! It’s a demon-ghost in there, and he will eat you,” spoke the paper.
Annika thought for a moment, then said, “Perhaps, he’s lonely.”
“No,” spoke the paper, “A little girl and a little boy went in there last month, and they’ve never come out. Go! Run! Don’t look back until you’ve reached the gnarled old oak tree down there. We’ll protect you.”
And so, Annika ran. The unseen voice who had accompanied her from her home to the house in the woods called out to her, “Why are you running away? You are our Guest. We’re your Hosts. We will …”
But what they would do did not reach her ears. She ran, panting, to the gnarled old oak tree, then turned around.
The trees had bent down, and formed a wall of green around the house, and were slowly devouring it. A long-drawn-out scream came from it, chilling her senses.
She bowed down to the trees and said, “Thank you,” at the top of her voice, then ran through the woods, until she found the main road. She slowed to a walk, heart hammering, and trudged on till she found her home.
Her mother was still in the backyard, on the hammock, now snoring gently.
Annika slipped into the backyard, and now, her heart beating more calmly, she poured herself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher her mother had left on a table by the side of the hammock. With a slightly shaky hand, she drank it, then quietly began swinging on her swing set, keeping an eye on her mother.
Soon, her mother stretched, yawned, and smiled at her daughter. “Wow! I must have been tired. I’ve been asleep for hours.”
Annika said, “Let’s go in, Mom. There are Hosts out there, and they’ll eat us. I don’t want to be a Guest.”
Her mother laughed. “You’re such a wonderful story-spinner, sweets! Come on in. Time for me to make supper. Dad will be home soon.”
Annika, dumbfounded, looked at her mother, made as if to speak, then stopped.
“Yes, I do spin stories, don’t I? I love them. Thanks, Mom!” she said brightly.
And they went back in.
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